Today, when the branch fell and the power went out, I busted out the paints.

It was time. All that joy, that floating, buoyant emotion, needed to come out on a canvas.

God, I’d missed this. It felt so good to see the painting bloom as my brush danced and bustled. All these weeks I’d been in this house staring west in the evenings, watching the sunset, the moon rise, the rain blow the reeds of the salt marsh. For the first time in years, painting once again felt like my destiny. For the first time since I could remember, I felt like myself again.

The painting was nearly finished—half of art was knowing when to stop—when Pepper jumped up and started to tremble and whine, pressing her nose against the front window. She did this when a fox or coyote was in the area, or a deer, or a mouse, or a worm. Often, I couldn’t see what she saw, but I always took a look, because who wanted to miss out on seeing a little red fox, right?

I set my palette down, rested the brush on the easel lip and went to see.

Nothing. “Is one of your friends out there?” I asked. She started moaning, trembling violently now. I took my phone in case it was something cute and I could snap a picture for Carter, who loved hearing about wildlife, New Yorker that he was.

“Okay. Let’s get your leash on, Pepper Puppy,” I said, and she wagged gratefully, still pressing her nose against the glass. I got my slicker and her shoulder harness, since she was a puller.

The wind battered us the second we stepped out the door, but Pepper leaped and tugged me down toward the river. The tide was going out, so the river was getting more and more shallow, and the rain-soaked, salty mud made walking hard.

“Easy, girl, easy!” I said. The rain had already soaked my face and the front of my jeans, but my good old L.L.Bean boots kept my feet dry. A gust of wind made me stagger back a couple of steps, my foot nearly coming out of the boot, but Pepper was on fire to get to the water.

“Pepper!” I yelled. “Stay with me!”

Then I saw what she’d seen.

It was a beached dolphin. And it was alive! Holy crap. The storm must’ve pushed it up here, and it didn’t have enough water to swim. Oh, it was tragic, flapping and struggling there. Pepper was crooning at it, her tail wagging madly, and the dolphin blew hard out of its blowhole in a whooshing sound.

Thank God I had my phone. I dragged Pepper a few yards away and tied her leash to a scrubby bush. She wanted to play with the dolphin, dropping her shoulders down, barking and wagging.